


it gets alright to dream at night

by couldaughter



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, M/M, the philip/amy is kind of incidental but y'know, this is so self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 05:59:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2056473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couldaughter/pseuds/couldaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Philip Wilson runs for a by election, Amy Dyer is less dead than she appears, and Steve Walker attempts to deal with his son’s new boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it gets alright to dream at night

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: non specific description of anxiety, medical stuff, death (it's a show about zombies)

“I don’t see why you won’t give it a try. Maxine Martin got sectioned, you’re in with a chance here. Dream big. Get out of the house for a bit.”

Philip sighed. “Mum, everyone in Roarton knows about the, er, the PDS thing. I’ve fallen at the first hurdle.”

“The constituency’s a fair bit bigger than just Roarton Valley, Philip. C’mon, you could run as an independent. You’ve always had big ideas.” Shirley smiled, and set a mug of tea down in front of her son. “Besides, no one around here’s trusted the Tories since the Rising - left us all in the dust and no mistake.”

Philip shrugged, non committal. He didn’t want to admit that the idea did interest him, especially the idea of getting to one-up the last remaining Tory in Roarton Valley. Prick.

“Well,” said Shirley, taking a sip from her own mug. She winced. Philip had a feeling she’d put too much sugar in it again. “Anyway, I’ve looked it up and it’s not too much money to stand. They’ve relaxed it recently, explains how Victus got so many candidates in the first place.”

“I’ll think about it, mum. Promise.” He mustered up a smile from somewhere. “I probably should work on, um, my career. PCC was never all that promising, really.”

\---

“So, the by-election’s coming up.” The Walker family’s dining table was, for once, full of Walkers. Steve rustled his newspaper significantly. “No Victus candidate - that ship’s definitely sailed here in Roarton, eh?”

Kieren and Jem looked down at their plates - Kieren’s empty and still dishwasher clean, Jem’s covered in toast crusts. Maxine Martin was still a sore subject.

Steve coughed awkwardly.

His wife saved him from further embarrassment with a polite “Oh?” and a smile.

“Says here we’ve got a Tory running. Bit of a surprise considering the last one ran for the hills during - well, y’know.” He seemed incapable of opening his mouth without shoving his foot straight in it.

Kieren looked up, curious. “Anyone else? Don’t know if I’m allowed to vote without, y’know, citizenship, but it’s always worth a look-in.”

“Let me have a look,” said Steve, grateful for his son’s apparent interest. “Oh, yeah, says here Phil Wilson is running as an independent. It’s, er, a bit disparaging. Considering the circumstances.”

“Phil? Glad to hear it. Always said he wanted to be a politician, back in school.” Kieren pointedly didn’t mention the four years that had followed.

Steve nodded. “Yep, the article mentions that. Alongside the, er, unfortunate events at that council house.”

“I don’t think that’s appropriate material for the breakfast table, Steve.” Sue said lightly.

“Oh yeah,” said Jem, grinning. “If you carry on like that one day you’ll turn around and the living room’ll be full of prostitutes. Just like that.”

Sue gave her a sharp look but Jem seemed unrepentant. There was a pregnant pause.

“Anyway,” said Steve, trying to grasp the thread of the conversation he’d lost so quickly. “Jem, I hope you’ll be voting. Participation is important.”

“‘Course I will, dad. Not like there’s anything else to do here in sunny Roarton.” She glanced out the window, which was being hammered by a sudden rainstorm.

Kieren perked up suddenly. “Oh, dad, I’m going out later.”

“Looking like that?” Steve looked pointedly at Kieren’s jacket, a remnant from his short lived but intense punk phase. It was more hole than jacket.

“Yes.”

“Well, alright. On your own head be it when you get soaked through by the rain and come home shivering.”

\---

Amy had been reburied for less than a month. The gravestone was still smooth with crisp, clear lettering.

The grass around her grave was wet, and the rain bucketed down as Kieren stood at its end. He pulled his jacket tighter around his chest.

“Christmas was good.” Kieren began, throat tight. “Jem got me a new sketchpad; you know I’ve been needing one for ages. I made her another mix CD, which she seems to like. I can hear it blaring through her bedroom door sometimes, anyway. Mum and dad are still trying to convince us that Santa is real, although, I guess anything is possible if the dead can rise.” He paused, trying to collect his thoughts.

“It’s weird, talking to you like this. I feel like I can hear you interrupting me every second word, in the way you always do. You always had more interesting things to say, Amy. I keep expecting you to just… show up. I mean, you did the last time I sat in a graveyard just talking to a gravestone.”

The wind picked up suddenly, the rain going almost vertical. Kieren would’ve sworn he could feel it through his jacket.

“I guess I’d better move on for now. Simon’s probably wondering where I’ve got to.” He waved, awkwardly. He still wasn’t sure how to say goodbye when he knew that, really, Amy wasn’t there. Talking to himself over her grave only helped one person, and it wasn’t her.

The private hope he’d been harbouring - that going there, talking to her like she wasn’t six feet under him, would somehow bring her back - crushed itself into the tiniest pieces. Hope was hard to come by in Roarton.

He trudged back to the cemetary gates, the mud sucking at his shoes on every step. The graveyard itself seemed reluctant to let him leave.

 _Makes sense_ , he thought with a slight smile, finally clearing the gates. _I was buried here, after all._

The walk to Amy’s bungalow was long and wet, but Kieren persevered. The thought of Simon’s presence was motivating enough without the rain that continued to soak through his clothes.

Half an hour of quiet, muddy walking later, he stood on the doorstep and paused for a moment. The door knocker was shaped like a face. It reminded Kieren of unending GCSE English lessons analysing A Christmas Carol.

When he reached out to knock, his hand shook.

\---

Somewhere, there was a room with white walls, white curtains and a bright, white bed.

In the bright, white bed, under clean, crisp sheets, was a young woman with brown eyes and scars on her stomach. The monitors attached to her beeped steadily. There was an oxygen mask strapped to her face.

She neither lived nor died.

The two way mirror on the wall had an excellent view.

\---

The sofa was very comfortable.

Jem lay down on it, rested her feet on the armrest, and turned to watch the TV with a level of concentration she hadn’t used since the last time she held a gun.

Some documentary about koalas was on. Eventually, her attention drifted from the unending footage of cute animals eating eucalyptus leaves.

“Mum?”

“Yes, Jem?”

“D’you wanna watch a film or something? It’s a bit boring in here on my own.”

Sue poked her head in and, seeing Jem’s position on the sofa, tutted. “Feet off the armrest, dear. And yes, alright. Did you have anything in mind?”

It was nice to get told off for something normal, like feet on the armrest or, memorably, the time she and Kieren had dyed their hair blue on a school night. The last time Sue had shouted at her was when Jem’d forgotten to put her gun back in the gun cabinet. Or maybe when she’d put gore stained clothes in with the clean laundry after an all nighter with the HVF.

Jem shook her head. “Not really. Just want to get my mind off of school.”

“Well, there’s certainly no shortage of films to watch. Your dad’s tapered off on buying new ones but there’s a bit of a backlog, as you can see.” Sue smiled and pointed towards the shelves over the TV.

Pulling out one of them seemingly at random, Sue put it into the player and came to sit on the end of the sofa. Jem put her feet in her lap.

It was some animated film. Jem smiled softly, remembering long afternoons as a kid watching Disney films with Kieren.

She managed to keep with it for a while, a slightly creepy story about a kid who could see ghosts, when things took a turn for the worse.

Apparently animated zombies were just as bad as the real ones.

Within seconds Jem found herself both upright and clinging to her mum more tightly than she had since she was about 5 and still thought there were monsters under the bed.

Sue pulled her in close, paused the film, and didn’t say anything.

\---

The Undead Liberation Army, convinced - not unreasonably - that Simon was a traitor to their cause, had vacated Amy’s bungalow in the small hours of the morning after the failed second rising, leaving a dark and empty house for Simon to come back to.

It became a project for him, in the same way physiotherapy is a project, and in the two weeks since that time Simon had already repainted the walls and was working on fixing the smashed plug sockets - the product of a few of the more openly furious ULA members.

They were still in Roarton. There had been a few close calls when Simon ran into them in public places, a frosty and tense silence falling every time. Neither side had yet resorted to violence, but he could feel their anger boiling beneath the surface.

Telling Kieren about the Undead Prophet’s orders had been difficult. Simon had never been good at explaining himself, or communication beyond the sort of preaching the ULA had demanded of him, and telling Kieren he’d been supposed to kill him was definitely a test of his ability to apologise without it sounding like a sermon.

He’d accepted it, though. (“But you _didn’t_ kill me, Simon. I feel very reassured, honestly, and I don’t blame you.”) Sometimes Simon was convinced Kieren was some kind of perfect being - but then Kieren insisted he wasn’t, and Simon tried to avoid thinking it.

Anyway, redecorating helped to keep his mind off other things - like the absence of a running commentary in Amy’s cheerful northern tones. Or the lack of Amy in general.

He’d been truthful when he told Kieren he loved Amy. When she’d first arrived at the commune he’d been wary of her, as he usually was with new converts (and new people in general), but he’d been won over with worrying swiftness.

It was difficult to dislike Amy. She was endlessly cheerful, endlessly kind, and endlessly unwilling to put up with anyone’s bullshit. It was refreshing.

The sound of a sharp knock on the door pulled him out of his reverie. He put down the screwdriver.

He opened the door slowly, still wary of possible attack, and then smiled in relief when he saw that it was Kieren.

Stepping aside to let a soaking wet Kieren into the house, Simon went to find something dry for him to wear. They couldn’t feel the cold but it was more about sense memory in some cases, and Kieren had been shivering slightly.

He came back to find Kieren sat on the sofa staring at the plug socket. He dropped a jumper into his lap, which earned him a grateful smile.

“They smashed it before they left,” he said, attempting to explain an act which had bewildered him as well.

Kieren nodded, then turned to look at him properly. He was, as Amy would have said, going au naturale. He’d pulled on the too-large jumper, and his hands barely peeked out from the sleeves. He looked even more beautiful than usual.

“It is a bit of a mystery.” Kieren looked thoughtful, as if he was actually trying to solve the case of the broken plug sockets. Simon was hit with a fresh wave of affection for his… Kieren.

He sat down next to him on the sofa. “I suppose I’ll have to learn to live without a nightlight.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” Kieren leaned his head on Simon’s shoulder.

\---

The woman in the bed frowned in her sleep. Something was wrong, and she couldn’t grasp it.

Terrifying, undead creatures loomed in her vision, and they wouldn’t attack her. There were mirrors everywhere but she couldn’t see her reflection. All the monsters were trying to greet her with a smile, smiling with all their teeth, smiling so wide they encompassed the world and swallowed her without even trying.

Her medication was altered. After only a few weeks, Halperin & Weston were confident they’d taken enough samples to dispense with her once she woke up. A beating heart is remarkable only when it once didn't.

\---

“The thing is, Sue, the thing is that I really don’t understand why Jem’ll watch films with you, but Kier won’t watch them with me.” Steve had come home to find Jem and Sue curled up on the sofa with tearstained faces watching something busy with cartoon animals and musical numbers.

Sue put a hand on his cheek. “Kieren just wants a bit of space to be an adult, Steve. He hasn’t had much of a chance before now.”

“I see that, but still-”

“Let him have a few days to spend some time with his boy, Steve. He deserves it after the last few months, don’t you think?”

Steve sighed, and nodded. “I wish he wouldn’t spend so much time away. Feels like he’s leaving us behind, a bit.” He caught himself. “I’m just, er, airing my true thoughts about the situation. Y’know.”

“I do know, love,” said Sue, smiling. “You’re getting empty nest syndrome. Just be happy for him, yeah? And Jem’s here at least until she finishes her exams next year. You and Kieren have got ages yet.”

“I know you’re right, Sue. Just let an old man whinge a bit.” They stood there quietly for a few moments, then jumped when the door swung open.

“Ugh, gross,” said Jem, moving towards the fridge. She was smiling, though. “Can’t believe the _trauma_ I have to go through to get orange juice in this house.”

“Now now, young lady,” said Steve, stepping back from his wife and leaning on the counter. “Don’t disrespect your elders. Even if they are blocking the fridge.”

“And in your day you didn’t even _have_ a fridge, you had to keep food cold in the snow and dodge triceratops on the walk there and back…” Jem grinned and took a swig of orange juice straight from the carton.

The phone rang at that moment, and as Sue went to answer it Steve gave Jem a rueful smile. “I know when I’m beaten.”

“Ah, it’s fine dad. I love you anyway, even if you are a million years old.”

“The dinosaurs died out 65 million years ago, Jem. You vastly underestimate my age and wisdom.”

Sue called in from the living room. “Steve, someone from work’s on the phone. Says it’s important.”

He tipped an imaginary hat to Jem and went to answer the phone.

\---

“I miss her.” Kieren said suddenly, his head still on Simon’s shoulder.

Simon tightened his arm around Kieren’s waist. “I miss her too.”

“She’d probably know how to fix a plug socket. Or at least know how to find out.”

“I did google it,” said Simon, mildly. “It’s just that I’m not an electrician. I’m a musician.”

“Really?” Kieren perked up, moving his head from Simon’s shoulder to look at him properly. “What do you play?”

At this point, Amy probably would’ve started to sing The Music Man loudly and out of tune. She always did when Simon pulled out his guitar to practice.

“The guitar, but not very well. I was much better before.”

Kieren knew not to ask ‘before what?’.

“I got to grade 6 piano,” he offered. “Back before I decided to focus on art. I liked it, but it was never a priority, y’know?”

“Never bothered with grading. My mum bought it for me, and I took to it pretty slow, but I got there eventually. Had a band for a few months, never really went anywhere.”

“What sort of stuff did you play?” Kieren was sat up completely by now, but he was still flush against Simon’s side so he didn’t really mind.

Simon shrugged, suddenly embarrassed.. “Oh, y’know. Nirvana, The Smiths, that sort of thing.”

“I was always more of a Sex Pistols fan,” said Kieren with a nostalgic smile. “Spent most of my mid teens with a truly unfortunate haircut because of it, but I wouldn’t trade ‘em for the world.”

Simon privately prayed for photos. He had a feeling they would be adorable.

Kieren poked him in the ribs. He couldn’t really feel it, but there was something there. “I know what you’re thinking, Simon. If you get pictures off of mum, I will not be responsible for my actions.”

Simon attempts an expression of complete innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“And don’t try that either.”

“Try what?”

“The… the ‘I am the twelfth disciple and you should trust me’ voice. It’s weird.”

Simon frowned. “I didn’t think I sounded any different.”

“Well,” said Kieren, with some slant to his words that Simon couldn’t identify. “Hopefully without all your followers around you’ll get a little bit less priest-y.”

“Maybe,” said Simon, non-committal. He’d never really thought about his role in the ULA until Kieren had started prodding him about it. It made him self conscious in a way he hadn’t been since his teens.

“I mean,” Kieren continues, clearly unwilling to let this go. “You’re great. You are. We established that when you came to sunday lunch with my parents and didn’t dump me immediately afterwards. I just wish you wouldn’t treat me or anyone else like a potential convert.”

Simon sat back, shocked. “I don’t-” He stopped. His throat felt tight, which must have been psychological. “I don’t try to. It just happens. How am I meant to-”

Something was wrong with his vocal chords. No sound was coming out, and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Everything was suddenly very loud.

Kieren was crouched in front of him. Simon wasn’t sure when he’d bent forward, head in his hands, but he had a feeling it was more than a few seconds before.

“Hey, it’s ok. Sorry for pushing.” Kieren put his hands around Simon’s wrists.

Simon shook his head sharply. “No, it’s- it’s alright. Didn’t know I’d react like this, eh?”

“Still,” said Kieren quietly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Not like you founded the ULA, is it?”

Kieren looked guilty. Simon hated that with the kind of passion he’d never had when he was alive. He broke Kieren’s hold on his wrists and cradled his face with both hands.

“Not your fault, Kier.”

They stared at each other for a while. Simon felt his breathing return to normal - which must have been a hangover from being alive, since the undead didn’t need to breathe at all.

\---

Amy Dyer opened her eyes.

The beeping machines crowded around her were terrifying. The last thing she could remember before waking up, before the dreams and nightmares and the all encompassing coldness, was Maxine Martin and a pair of rusty scissors.

Her heart was beating, and for once that was the least of her worries. There was no door in the doorway, and she couldn’t see anyone outside it. She pulled every last needle out of her skin, stood up on unsteady legs, and walked across the room in silence to check the corridor.

It was also empty, but she didn’t want to take chances. The mirror covering one wall of the room looked suspect.

She’d read a wiki article about this once. Tests to see if a mirror is a two way, if people are watching you make an idiot of yourself.

It sounded hollow when she hit it. Bingo.

She stepped back. There wasn’t anything in the room that looked heavy enough to break through glass. She sighed, then crouched, legs already feeling stronger, and kicked out at the mirror with all her strength and a blue belt in Taekwondo.

The glass shattered.

\---

“So, Jem, any plans for the weekend?” The Walkers, minus Kieren, were sat in the living room, pretending to watch a documentary about Exodus.

Jem uncurled slightly from her position curled up in the armchair, back to the wall, and shrugged. Her line of sight included the doorway and the front window. “Not really. Might try and finish reading the set book for English.”

“Oh, yes, what are you reading for English? It’s been a long time since our O-Levels, things’ve changed.”

“Frankenstein.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Interesting choice. You enjoying it?”

“It’s alright.” Jem had curled back up, knees against her chest.

The phone rang. Everyone jumped.

Sue picked it up, then smiled. “Oh, hello, Philip. How’s the campaign going?”

Tinny but audible, he replied “Alright, Mrs Walker. People seem more willing to accept me than the Tories, anyway. I hope.”

“That’s good to hear. Things looking good for the election? It’s in less than a week, isn’t it?”

“Um, yes, it is, actually. This call was meant to remind you, not that you have to vote for me, I mean if you just wanted to participate that’s fine by me-”

“No need to get in a state with me, Philip. I’ve known you since you were a baby, I’m sure I can make a decision on if I want you representing me in London.”

“Thank you, Mrs Walker.”

“Have a good day, Phil. Good luck.” She put down the phone with a loud click. There was a long silence, discounting the murmur of the television.

“Well, that was nice.” Sue said, with a sort of determined cheerful smile. “Good to see him getting things done.”

“Yeah,” Steve replied, quietly. “Very nice.”

Jem didn’t say anything.

Silence fell again, but this time it felt more comfortable. Sue moved along the sofa and put an arm around Steve’s shoulders.

Eventually, the documentary ended and Steve stood up. “Suppose I should get dinner going,” he said apologetically. “What do you fancy? Jem?”

Jem looked up, eyes shadowed. “I don’t really mind, dad. Surprise me.”

Steve smiled at her, then went to check the freezer. He had a feeling there was a pack of sausages in there. A fry-up seemed like a good idea for the miserable weather.

After a quick search found them tucked between a ready meal and a frozen pizza, he pulled them out and put them on the counter just as he heard the front door open.

\---

“I’m not sure about this, Kieren.”

“It’ll be alright, Simon. Not like they can hate you when you stopped me getting shot. They’ll probably unveil a statue in your honour if you set the table.” Kieren smiled at his… well. He smiled at Simon. He wasn’t sure exactly what to call him other than that.

Simon still looked unsure, so Kieren reached out and twined their fingers together. “Look, as long as you don’t eat someone they’ll be fine. I was the one who embarrassed myself at sunday lunch, yeah?”

They’d decided to come down to Kieren’s house once the rain had stopped. Amy’s bungalow was developing a leak in the ceiling, and while Simon didn’t mind Kieren objected on principle when there was a perfectly good airbed at his house.

Simon looked at their linked hands and smiled. Kieren felt his chest swell with happiness.

Kieren knocked once then opened the front door, holding it open for Simon then letting it swing shut with a bang.

His dad was getting dinner ready. Kieren missed his dad’s cooking a lot, which surprised him considering how little he’d appreciated it when he could still eat.

“Hello?” Dad must’ve heard them come in.

“Hi, dad.” Kieren poked his head into the kitchen. “Oooh, sausages. Definitely a top 5 food I would eat if my stomach functioned.”

Simon laughed softly. If he’d been alive, Kieren thought he probably would’ve blushed.

Steve seemed a bit lost for words.

“Anyway, dad, me and Simon are just going to, um, hang out upstairs for a bit. The bungalow’s got a leak in the roof. Thought I should probably be a good samaritan.”

“Very kind of you, Kieren. Hope everything’s alright up at the bungalow?” Steve had turned his attention to Simon.

Simon hesitated. “Er, I suppose?”

“The plug sockets are broken,” put in Kieren. “It’s alright though, Simon is actually from the stone age.”

“Broken?” Steve looked even more concerned than usual. “How’d that happen, then?”

Kieren and Simon shared a significant look. “Not sure. I forgot to lock the front door one day, came back to a bit of chaos.”

“Well, if you need any help with them, there’s a good electrician living in the valley, I could give you his… details…” Steve trailed off as Kieren pulled Simon down the corridor.

Simon looked at him in confusion.

“You were going to stay to talk to him, weren’t you?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“Not today. I didn’t get to give you the tour last time, you really missed out.”

\---

There was only one scientist on the other side of the mirror. She looked surprised, which gave Amy an advantage in grabbing her from behind, as gently as she could get away with.

“How do I get out of here?”

Trembling, the scientist pointed towards the computer bank at one end of the room. “Floor plan’s on those. Please, don’t-”

“Hurt you?” said Amy, grinning as she powered up a computer. “Why on earth would I do that?”

The scientist sat down, suddenly exhausted. There was no way she would be able to explain this to her superiors.

“Ooh, these things aren’t half quick, aren’t they?” Amy smiled. Everything was coming together nicely.

She was out of the door within two minutes, the floor plan fresh in her mind as she navigated the winding maze that was Halperin & Weston’s headquarters. There was a jacket abandoned on a chair in the hallway, which she took without a second thought.

It didn’t look like the treatment center. For one thing, everything was sterile and the walls were painted a crisp white. Someone had spent a lot of money on the place.

The stairs loomed before her. She didn’t want to risk taking the lift, since she had no doubt her escape (and didn’t that sound dramatic? Eat your heart out, Kieren Walker.) would be noticed soon and anything electronic was probably a risk.

It felt a lot like a heist movie. Amy loved those with her whole heart. The Mission Impossible theme played on a loop in her head as she raced down 5 flights of stairs without pausing for breath.

As she turned to slide down the last bannister, feeling suddenly elated, she noticed a security guard outside the door to the ground floor. _At least I haven’t been captured by_ complete _amateurs_ , she thought. She’d been a bit disappointed by the lack of, well, _anything_ in the facility.

She sat on the stairs for a few minutes, quietly watching the guard. He didn’t seem to move at all.

The stairwell had windows, which presented a promising alternative. They were pretty small, but they did open outwards.

Amy went to peer out of them. It was raining, which she didn’t mind. She just wanted to be outside.

With a last look over her shoulder at the immovable security guard, she eased open the window closest to ground level and pulled herself onto the windowsill.

She hit the ground with a soft thud. There was no perimeter fence, and no security cameras that she could see.

“Bloody amateurs,” she muttered. “Can’t believe I got captured by such _bloody_ amateurs.” She started to run towards the woods, muttering in annoyance the whole time.

Her feet sank into the mud at every step.

She smiled, feeling more alive than ever. “Watch out, world.”

\---

Steve looked at the stairs for the tenth time in five minutes.

It was a murky Sunday morning. Breakfast - cornflakes and a disappointing cup of decaf - had come and gone, and Kieren and Simon still hadn’t appeared downstairs.

“Stop fussing, Steve,” said Sue, tapping him on the wrist with the biro she was using to write the shopping list. “I’m sure they’re being perfectly responsible up there.”

“Well,” said Steve with a dark look. “I don’t know…”

“Calm it, dad,” said Jem from the doorway. “You’re bringing the mood down.” She walked past him and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Kieren’s a big boy now, he can deal with his own shit.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. She had a point. Kieren was in his twenties now, even if he didn’t look it.

“See, dad,” said Jem with a smile. “You should listen to me. I’ve got the knowledge.”

“Your cornflakes are overflowing,” said Kieren from the doorway.

Steve nodded at his son. “I see you’ve finally emerged, then?”

“Yeah,” said Kieren, looking embarrassed. “Sorry. Didn’t feel up to pretending to eat breakfast.”

“Simon not down yet?”

“No, he’s, um, still asleep.” Kieren ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t think staying at the bungalow’s doing him much good, to be honest.”

“Makes sense,” said Jem, looking up from her cereal. “Not good going back somewhere you associate with bad memories. At least, that’s what Dr Robinson says.”

She and Kieren shared a look which Steve couldn’t quite figure out.

Steve smiled through his confusion. “Glad to see she’s making an impression, then.”

“Yeah, she’s alright. Lots of talking about feelings, feels a bit weird after growing up in stiff upper lip Roarton.” Jem grinned.

Kieren grinned back at her. “Everyone is a bit uptight here, aren’t they. I mean,” he said, gesturing at himself. “I did nearly get shot a few times.”

It had been long enough since the Rising that Jem laughed.

There was a pause.

“I’m just going to go and… check on him.” Kieren pointed vaguely at the stairs, then disappeared up them.

“Alright, son,” Steve shouted after him. “Tell him good morning from us if he’s up.”

\---

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this, mum.”

Shirley sipped her tea. “You made the decision, love. You’re an adult now, and a fairly competent one at that.”

Philip paced back and forth between the still broken toaster and the fridge. “I can’t believe I talked _myself_ into this. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshit. SHIT.”

“Alright, keep your hair on. Come here.” She beckoned him towards the sofa, then pulled him into a hug. “No matter what the election result is, I’ll still be proud of you, yeah? If nothing else, it’s experience for next time.”

He sighed, and relaxed slightly in her arms. Shirley had always given great hugs.

“The election’s in less than a week mum. I’ve done hardly _anything_.”

“You’ve done more than most of those southern prats ever would. Besides, the town knows you, and the rest of the valley’s seen your campaign ads. There’s no way you won’t get votes.”

“You have to say that, mum, it’s part of being a parent, right?”

“Being a parent means supporting your child, not giving them false hope. First item in the handbook.” Shirley kissed him on the forehead. Philip squirmed.

The doorbell rang. He sat up.

“No, love, I’ll get it. You stay here and sit down for a bit, you look exhausted.”

He heard Shirley slide the chain back, then unlock the door. He also heard her gasp.

“Mum? You okay?”

“Yes, I’m, um, fine. Could you… could you come through here Philip? It’s for you.” Something about her tone had Philip up and at the door in about five seconds.

Amy was at the door. She had twigs in her hair.

“Hello, handsome.” She grinned. Philip thought his heart was going to explode.

He turned to look at Shirley. “Mum, I don’t-”

“She seems real enough to me. Let’s not question it for now, eh?”

Philip turned back to Amy, then leapt forward and swept her into a tight hug. She felt real to him.

“Woah there, what’s this? I know I’ve been gone a little while, but it’s not like I died or anything.”

She drew back when Philip went still. “Wait. Did I die?”

“Yeah, you did, Amy. Or at least we… thought you did…”

“Oh. That’s a bit shit.” She grinned. “At least I’m back now! Heart’s beating and everything.”

Philip kissed her. He couldn’t help it. She smiled against his mouth.

“Well,” Amy said, slapping his arm lightly. “Warm welcome’s always appreciated! You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to get on a train in this get up. The ticket lady looked like she thought I escaped from a loony bin or something.”

“The hospital gown might’ve been a bit suggestive.”

“That’s why I nicked the jacket, dumbo.”

\---

Kieren’s bedroom light shone brightly, directly into Simon’s eyes. He blinked.

They were lying next to each other on the floor, only a few inches apart, in a peaceful quiet. The rainstorm battering the window was the only sound.

Kieren’s room was endlessly fascinating to him, and also a useful distraction to keep his mind from turning in on itself, but Simon was still thinking about what Kieren had said the day before. The ULA had saved him when his dad had kicked him out, but that didn’t mean it was inherently good. The Undead Prophet… well. Simon didn’t trust him anymore, for obvious reasons. But faith was hard to leave behind in the dust.

“I didn’t join the ULA to lead people,” he said suddenly.

Kieren turned towards him. “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t-”

“No, no, it’s- I should probably tell somebody. Communication is important. _Jesus_ , did I just say that?” He paused, collecting himself. “I joined the ULA because I didn’t have anything else. I didn’t have a place to stay after the first night, and someone at the treatment center gave me a number to call, and I just… wanted to belong somewhere. It worked, for a while. I’m starting to see that a lot of the ULA is bullshit, but that doesn’t change the fact that I believed all of it. Faith doesn’t just go away.”

“I understand,” said Kieren, reaching for Simon’s hand. “Or, well, I don’t, but I think I know what you mean. I went to church as a kid. Said my prayers every evening. Seemed a bit meaningless once I came back from the dead and realised the afterlife didn’t exist.”

“This _is_ the afterlife,” said Simon, and then he stopped. “Sorry, that was the voice again, wasn’t it.”

“It’s alright,” Kieren replied. “The important thing is that you noticed. Thank you for talking to me.” He kissed Simon’s knuckles.

The doorbell rang. Kieren started to get up, before Simon pulled him back into a hug. “It’s probably nothing. Someone else will get it.”

It wasn’t nothing.

Jem opened the door to Kieren’s room, with a blindingly bright smile on her face. “It’s for you,” she said. “Both of you.”

Kieren got up, pulling Simon to his feet beside him. Jem beckoned them. ‘C’mon, I’m not gonna wait all day.”

They clattered down the stairs.

Amy was sitting at the dining room table. She stood up when Simon and Kieren came in, grinned like she always had.

“Hiya! Sorry about the whole, er, death thing, but rumours of my demise _were_ greatly exaggerated-” She stopped, as Kieren pulled her into a rib crushing hug. “Whoa, partner, let the girl breath a little.” She didn’t stop hugging him, though.

Simon was still stood frozen in the doorway. He’d done the same thing at the doctor’s surgery when Amy had died, and when his nana had been on her death bed when he was a lot younger.

Eventually, Kieren and Amy broke apart. Simon found himself walking across the room, and suddenly he had an armful of Amy, undoubtedly and ecstatically alive. He hugged her back almost on reflex, rested his cheek on the top of her head.

“No hero’s welcome for me? I had to get the train all on my own,” she said, pouting dramatically. “And the ticket lady thought I was bonkers, which is _not_ the impression I’d like to give people. I am a lovely and sophisticated lady.”

“You are,” agreed Simon, quietly. “Good to see you, Amy.”

**Author's Note:**

> i've been in an in the flesh freefall for the past week, and this is the most concrete result. title is from 'never quite free' by the mountain goats.
> 
> on tumblr @cpnmarvel, also spiralling but with a lot more pretty graphics and slightly less adjectives.


End file.
